


all this, and love too

by jamesstruttingpotter



Series: half of my soul, as the poets say [2]
Category: Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:54:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27972662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamesstruttingpotter/pseuds/jamesstruttingpotter
Summary: Marilla had put her teacup down with a quelling look at Mrs. Lynde. “I’m sure you’ll discuss marriage when you’re good and ready for it,” she’d said to Anne.“They should be ready for it now, what with all the late night meandering they’ve been doing all summer,” Mrs. Lynde had said before subsiding at another fierce look from Marilla. Anne, face flaming, had fled soon thereafter.But the thought had been planted, and now she finds it very hard to shake. A curious swell of panic and anticipation rises within her every time she considers it.Husband,she thinks, and the word sounds altogether unfamiliar.Wife,she thinks, and that’s even stranger.
Relationships: Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley
Series: half of my soul, as the poets say [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2048768
Comments: 5
Kudos: 102





	all this, and love too

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick thing I threw together instead of studying for finals, yikes! I hope you're all staying safe and healthy.
> 
> I've added this as the second part of a series but it was more for convenience; no need to read the first to read this one.

Anne’s just about to rummage through the bedside table drawers when the door creaks open behind her. She whirls around to see Bash standing in the entryway with Dellie in his arms. His eyebrows are hiked high on his forehead.

“Hi,” she says lamely. His only response is to raise his brows even higher. “This… isn’t what it looks like.”

“What does it look like?” he asks.

“Like I’m a thief?” she tries. “A thief who steals into men’s hearts and homes—there’s something a bit literary about that, isn’t there? I’m sure that would be a very popular novel. And a  _ woman _ thief, now that’s something that would get the Mrs. Lyndes of the world talking, wouldn’t it? I actually wonder if—”

“Anne,” says Bash, patient. “What exactly are you doing with your hands all in Blythe’s things?”

“Ah.” She clears her throat. “Well, please keep in mind that I love him, very much.”

“Right.”

“And I know he loves me too, of course. We’ve talked about it at length, as you may imagine, and we’re both in agreement over those two points.”

“Go on.”

“And so… I was, maybe, curious. About whether or not there’s, um. A ring.”

There’s a moment of complete silence before Bash bursts into laughter. Dellie, startled, squeals her disapproval. Anne can feel her face going a deep, beet red, but valiantly stands her ground. 

“Oh, Anne,” he says at length. “I can assure you, he likely picked out a ring the day he saw you.”

Anne is not normally an insecure sort of girl. (Woman? Woman.) Well, not anymore. On the brink of starting her first teaching role, at Avonlea’s dear little schoolhouse no less, she has little reason to feel the weight of economic uncertainty that often hung round her neck when she was young, during what she likes to call her pre-Green Gables era. She has her family and her friends as dependable, solid presences in her life, worth more than their weight in gold, and she’s blessed with a similar sense of sureness when it comes to matters of the heart. The past few years with Gilbert have proven to be, while not necessarily  _ easy _ given the distance between them, absolutely wonderful in a way that even she has a difficult time putting into words. 

She’s now facing the last few weeks of summer knowing they’ll be filled with sunlit morning breakfasts with Marilla and Matthew, late afternoon picnics with Diana, and long evening walks with Gilbert. The prospect fills her with a joy so absolute as to be almost unbearable. But, of course, the fact that this time is to be the  _ last _ few weeks of summer has been at the back of her mind, percolating into a potential source of anxiety. This is especially true given Gilbert’s eventual return to Toronto in the fall. And, unerring, Mrs. Lynde had honed in on this.

“Well, Anne, this is it, I suppose,” she’d said over tea a few days ago. Anne, in the middle of choosing which biscuit she wanted, had been both nonplussed and barely attentive.

“This is what, Mrs. Lynde?”

“Why, the week you get engaged, child.”

This had been enough to stop both Marilla and Anne cold in their tracks.

“Pardon?” Anne had managed.

“Well, you’re fresh out of college, about to become Avonlea’s schoolmistress. A full-grown woman, aren’t you? And Gilbert’s due back at Toronto in September. If ever there was a time for him to propose, it’d be in the next few weeks, before he’s gone.”

“I—well, we haven’t really discussed it.”

Marilla had put her teacup down with a quelling look at Mrs. Lynde. “I’m sure you’ll discuss it when you’re good and ready for it,” she’d said to Anne.

“They should be ready for it now, what with all the late night meandering they’ve been doing all summer,” Mrs. Lynde had said before subsiding at another fierce look from Marilla. Anne, face flaming, had fled soon thereafter.

But the thought had been planted, and now she finds it very hard to shake. A curious swell of panic and anticipation rises within her every time she considers it.  _ Husband _ , she thinks, and the word sounds altogether unfamiliar.  _ Wife _ , she thinks, and that’s even stranger.

She leaves Bash and Dellie feeling equal measures relieved, vindicated, and embarrassed. The sun is still streaking hot across a pale blue sky as she enters the forest, absent-minded and sure-footed. The path deposits her neatly at the usual spot, where Diana and a large wicker hamper sit waiting by the river.

“Don’t you look deep in thought today,” remarks Diana, once the spread’s been laid out, and Anne watches a sparrow flit from branch to branch overhead.

“Would you like it if you were married?”

Diana frowns, contemplative. “Now?”

“Yes.”

“Well… yes, I suppose so.” She reassembles a wilting cucumber sandwich. “If the right man were in my life, of course. But yes, I do think it’d be lovely to be married. To build a home together with someone you love… that’s the sort of stuff we used to dream about as girls, isn’t it?”

“Aren’t we still girls?” Anne asks, grinning, and Diana laughs. “But I ask because—well. Mrs. Lynde said Gilbert’s liable to propose any day now.”

“Oh,  _ Anne! _ That’s wonderful, isn’t it? We all knew it was coming, of course, ever since you smashed that slate over his head.” She sobers at the expression on Anne’s face. “Anne, what’s wrong?”

Anne stares at her plate. “What if I’m not ready to be married?”

There’s a brief silence. “Not ready in what respect?” says Diana, and her voice is soft, encouraging.

“Well, I don’t  _ know _ .” She lifts her gaze to look at the clouds. There’s a puffy one that looks almost like a whale, or maybe a bear. “I feel as though I’ve only just started a new chapter, what with moving back to Avonlea and taking Miss Stacy’s old post. I don’t know if I’m ready to add something else that’s new.”

“Hmm,” says Diana, and it’s a contemplative noise. Anne watches the bear shift into a wide-brimmed hat and waits. “I think that’s a very grown-up way of thinking about it.”

That pokes a laugh out of her. “A grown-up way of thinking?”

“I mean it, Anne. It’s very mature of you to know yourself and what you want.”

She prods at the soft bread of her own sandwich. “It doesn’t feel like this is what I should want. I love Gilbert, and he loves me. What problem is there?”

“Sometimes things don’t work that way,” Diana says, and it’s half-practical, half-wistful. “Wouldn’t it be nice if things were that way? Neat and logical. But sometimes you feel a certain way and you can’t help it.”

Anne sighs. The river burbles along, cheery.

“Have you talked to Gilbert about it?” Diana asks presently.

“I’ve only just started thinking about it myself.”

“I think this is something you should talk about with him, if you feel up to it.” She smiles at her, warm. “I love hearing your thoughts, you know. And I’ll listen to you for as long as you’d like to talk about it. But I think he’d want to know this is how you feel.”

Anne sighs again, deeper. “You’re right.”

“You can do this, Anne. I know you can. And you know he’ll listen.”

A painful thought intrudes, one she’s never had before and hopes she never has again. “What if he leaves me?” she says, nearly a whisper. The words feel dark, heavy with an almost palpable weight.

Diana snorts, and the surprisingly unladylike noise pulls Anne back to this moment, drenched in clear summer light. “Gilbert Blythe leave Anne Shirley-Cuthbert? The sun’s more likely to leave the sky.”

Anne laughs. “Well, the sun  _ does _ leave the sky, Diana. You know, every night when the moon comes out—”

“Well, if we didn’t already know you were more poetical than me, this would confirm it.”

Despite Diana’s encouragement, Anne still feels rubbed raw with nerves by the time she clears dinner away. Matthew’s sitting on the front porch, shining everyone’s Sunday boots; she hears an achingly familiar voice inquire after his health through the open window and feels her heart rocket into her throat.

“Go on, then,” says Marilla, hands soapy from the dishes.

“—hasn’t been so bad. Bash is hoping for a bumper crop this fall,” Gilbert is saying as she steps onto the porch. He gives her a smile, easy as anything, and her palm finds home in his.

“I’ll be back soon,” she says to Matthew, bestowing a quick kiss on his cheek. Then it’s down the path and out the gate, sunset oranges and pinks gilding their way.

“How was your day?” she asks once their feet have found the familiar old route. 

“Oh, alright,” he says. “The population of Charlottesville never runs out of coughs and colds. Though one poor kid came in with a broken arm; Doc was kind enough to let me assist in setting it.”

“Even the thought makes me feel faint.”

He laughs. “I don’t believe anything could make you feel faint, Anne. You’ve got more nerve than you give yourself credit for.”

_ If I were waiting for a sign,  _ she thinks. Then, before she can second-guess herself, she says, “Gilbert?”

“Yes, Anne?”

“Do you—that is, do you have any… controversial views on marriage?”

His hand is warm and steady in her own. The dying sun carves out thoughtfulness in his expression as he considers the question. “No more or less controversial than any man, I think,” he says. “Well, other than wishing Cole every happiness, of course.”

“Of course,” she says, and her pulse is rabbit-quick in her throat. “But I suppose I more meant… well, is there an age, do you think? An age by which one’s spinsterhood is confirmed?”

The wide, flat plains of the Robinsons’ farm stretch boundless to their left. He stops walking; his gaze when it alights on hers strip the half-joking tone from her voice. “Anne,” he says, and  _ oh _ , she loves the way her name escapes his mouth, worn at the edges from tender overuse. “What are you really asking me?”

She runs her thumb over the ridge of his knuckles.  _ Courage _ , she thinks, and finally says, “I’m not sure I’m  _ ready _ to be married.”

It’s quiet. Somewhere, a nightingale practices his tune. “Okay,” Gilbert says, and she watches a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. “Is this what’s got you nervous?”

“Is this what—you could tell?”

“You’ve practically bitten your lower lip off.”

“I—Gilbert! Is that all you’ve got to say?”

“Is there anything else you’d like me to say?” he asks, and it’s a serious inquiry. “How can I help?”

“Well, I suppose I thought you’d be more… surprised. Mrs. Lynde made it sound like—”

“Ah,  _ Mrs. Lynde _ . I should’ve known.”

“Fine,  _ Mrs. Lynde.  _ But the more I thought about it, the more sense she seemed to make. You know as well as I do that Ruby’s engaged, Tilly’s about to be if she can make up her mind on which suitor to encourage, and Josie’s been settled for months. And you’d know better than me about the men of our class, though I’m sure they’re similarly situated. It feels as though everyone has made up their minds.”

“And you haven’t?” There’s an undercurrent of something in his voice suddenly, one he strains to hide beneath a casual glance at his shoes. She grips his hand tighter, horrified at the implication.

“Gilbert, of course I have,” she says, and he flashes her a sheepish, relieved grin. “When I get married, I expect no one else but you at the end of the aisle.”

“Maybe it would help if we talked about what you want rather than what everyone else is doing,” he says, practical again.

She opens her mouth, closes it, then opens it again. “I rather think I’m becoming a new person, don’t you?” she says. “Who is Anne, schoolteacher of Avonlea? I know who Anne, student of Avonlea was, and I even got to know Anne, student of Queens very well. I know who Anne the daughter and Anne the friend and Anne the lover are, and those won’t go away, I assume. But it does feel suddenly like we’ve been thrust into adulthood, and I have big, Miss-Stacy-shaped shoes to fill. I don’t know who I’ll be, Gilbert, and I’m excited to get to know her, but… I don’t think I’m ready to be Anne the wife on top of all of this.”

“I see,” he says, and it’s with the satisfaction of solving a puzzle. “Well, there you have it, Anne. A perfectly respectable reason to tell Mrs. Lynde she’s wrong.”

That startles a laugh out of her. “So it makes sense to you?”

“Yes, but more importantly, it makes sense to you.” They start walking again. The first stars have started to stud the sky. Everything is washed in a soft blue light. The familiar lines of his face are so fiercely dear to her when she turns to look at him sidelong. “I’m not in a rush, Anne. I would marry you tomorrow if you wanted—” The thought sends a thrill through her— “but I don’t see why we should do something just for the sake of saying we’re doing it.”

“You don’t mind waiting just a bit longer?”

“I’ll wait however long you need me to, and without a single complaint. Besides, I’m still at Toronto for a little while longer, and I won’t ask you to uproot your life here to join me there, especially since I plan on coming back anyway.” He smiles at her, easy and teasing. “I’d rather like to actually live together once we’re married, wouldn’t you?”

_ Build a home together _ , Diana had said. Warm contentment banks low in her stomach. “I suppose the only thing left to decide is who wants us living with them more, Bash or Marilla and Matthew.”

“Oh, I fully expect Bash is ready to run me out. Did I tell you what he threatened to do to me yesterday for leaving my muddy boots in the entryway?”

“No, what?” she asks, and their laughter carries them through the warm twilight.


End file.
